


San of the Stairwell

by emberanne



Series: To the nights that turned into mornings, and the friends who turned into family [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, Short One Shot, Stairwells, alternative universe, literal tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21964648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emberanne/pseuds/emberanne
Summary: Choi San lived in the stairwell of his dorm.Sound carried heavily in the stairwell. San heard every lonely call home, every fight with a boyfriend, every exhausted 3 A.M. cry.When it came to the latter, he’d check on them after a while. They’re always embarrassed, but he just asks if they’re okay. He asks if they want a cup of tea and most give a tentative yes. Both parties will go nameless throughout the night, but the quiet company of another in the cold stairwell is enough.The night he meets Wooyoung is like any other time he's done this.
Relationships: Choi San & Jung Wooyoung, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Series: To the nights that turned into mornings, and the friends who turned into family [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586962
Comments: 10
Kudos: 271





	San of the Stairwell

Choi San lived in the stairwell of his dorm.

It wasn’t a bad gig, living in the stairwell. The dorm buildings on campus were pretty old, so rooms that were once cushy singles had turned into tight doubles, except for the stairwell rooms. They were a little smaller and there was always the fact that the room dumped you into the stairwell instead of a hallway, but all in all, it was pretty nice.

It was certainly convenient. Whenever San needed to leave, all he had to do was jog down three flights of stairs and he was out the door. He didn’t have to deal with people lingering in hallways and because his stairwell was on the backside of the dorm, he didn’t have to deal with people constantly walking past the door.

In fact, most people didn’t know about the stairwell. But when there were people there, he knew they were there.

Sound carried heavily in the stairwell. San heard every lonely call home, every fight with a boyfriend, every exhausted 3 A.M. cry.

When it came to the latter, he’d check on them after a while. They’re always embarrassed, but he just asks if they’re okay. He asks if they want a cup of tea and most give a tentative yes. Both parties will go nameless throughout the night, but the quiet company of another in the cold stairwell is enough.

When he sees they’re ready to go, he quietly excuses himself back to his room to sleep. He lets them leave on their own. It’s better that way, that way they don‘t feel have to say an awkward goodbye or give a half-hearted thank you. He’s just San of the stairwell, he doesn’t need any of that.

This night is just like any other that he’s done this.

San hears the crying around three in the morning, he gives it twelve minutes before he quietly slips out of bed and lets his socked feet pad across the floor. He cracks the door open and pokes his head out.

The person in question is sitting in the window seat on the landing between the second and third floors. He has fair blonde hair and his knees are pulled up to this chest, his head ducked in between them. His hands grip angrily at either side of his head as if he is trying to pull out his hair. His breathing is harsh.

For a moment, San pauses, because this seems a little more extreme than what he’s used to. He’s used to people who miss home just a little too much or are crumbling under the stress. San isn’t used to the anger and frustration and hurt he feels from this boy.

Still, San isn’t one to ignore a soul in need.

He opens the door with a practiced softness, trying not to disturb the boy just yet. He pads halfway down the stairs before he stops, figuring this is a good distance.

“Hey,” he calls out softly.

The boys’ head whips up.

The first thing San thinks is that even though the boys’ face is red and blotchy from crying, he’s the prettiest boy San has ever seen. He’s so pretty that for a moment, San forgets what he came for.

“What is it?” the boy asks, sniffing harshly.

San gets ahold of himself and lets a small smile slide onto his face.

“Sorry for bothering you,” San tells him. “I was just wondering if you wanted a cup of tea?”

“Why tea?” the boy asks, his body still curled in on himself.

San shrugs. He’s not sure why himself, he just kind of started offering tea. “Tea is good, plus my grandma used to say there wasn’t anything a good cup of tea couldn’t fix.”

The boy looks down, San isn’t sure if he’ll accept the tea or tell him to piss off.

Silently, the boy nods his head.

San grins widely, putting his foot on the next step. “Any preference?”

“Surprise me.”

San smiles and steps into his room to prepare two cups of decaffeinated earl grey.

When he returns, the boy has straightened himself out a bit. He’s wiped his eyes clear of tears and crossed his legs underneath him. He still hunches forward, as though he wishes to curl in on himself, but it’s not as bad as before.

San passes him the cup gently and sits next to him on the other end of the windowsill. Admittedly, the windowsill isn’t very large, so there’s only about an inch of space between San and the boy.

“Bad day?” San asks him nonchalantly, blowing on the tea before he takes a sip.

“Something like that,” responds the boy, making a face as he sips the tea. “Why is this so not good?”

San pulls two packets of sugar and creamer out of the pockets of his wool cardigan, knowing that this moment would arise.

“Thanks,” the boy says, taking one of each.

“Any time,” San tells him, sipping his tea.

The silence consumes them for a bit, but San knows this is best. It’s best to let them come to him, rather than force himself onto them.

After a while, the boy says, “My best friend has always been really rude.”

“Yeah?” San hums a bit.

“Yeah. We call him the truth-teller because he always says what his opinion is even if it hurts other people.”

“Does he hurt people often?”

“Not often. He’s not trying to be so rude he just, he doesn’t have a filter. He’s not a great people person.”

“I see…”

“...”

“...”

“... we got, we got in a fight.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re uncomfortable telling me.”

“No, I want to tell you, you seem chill.”

San smiles a little at this. Most of his friends would describe him as neurotic, given how he’s normally a bouncing ball of happiness and energy that tries to climb Yunho like a tree. But it’s good that the boy thinks he’s chill, that’s always the goal when he’s San of the stairwell.

“Okay,” San says simply.

The boy waits a little more, slowly swirling the tea in his cup.

“When we fight, it’s never pretty. Sometimes he takes things too far. Sometimes he says things that really hurt and I know he’s telling the truth because he always says what he thinks.”

San hums again, using it to stall for time to respond.

“The truth of anger isn’t always the real truth,” San finally offers. “In his anger, your friend’s sense of truth has probably become distorted, and that’s why he said the things that he said.”

The silence consumes them a little more. San finishes off his tea.

“I understand what you’re saying,” the boy finally says. “But it still hurts.”

San smiles a little sadly at that. “It always does.”

They sit in silence again. The boy sips at this tea and San absentmindedly traces patterns on the side of his mug. After about ten minutes, the boy finally speaks again.

“You do this a lot, don’t you?”

San laughs openly at that, taking a risk and nudging the boy with his shoulder gently. “Is it that obvious?”

The boy jokingly pouts, crossing his arms. “Damn, just as I was starting to feel special.”

“Trust me, you are,” San winks at him, smirking slightly.

The boys’ face erupts in red and San laughs again. Eventually, the boy cracks up as well, both of their laughs echoing around the stairwell. San is reminded of his fellow stairwell dwellers, who probably don’t appreciate the noise.

“I should go back to bed,” San finally says. “Thank you for the company.”

“Oh,” the boy frowns. He passes back the mug, his fingers brushing against San’s ever so slightly. “I’m sorry to keep you up.”

“Don’t worry about it,” San says, smiling one last time and turning to walk up the stairs. He’s about to open his door when the boy speaks up again.

“Please let me thank you!”

San turns, slightly confused. The boy looks desperate and a little embarrassed, his cheeks flushed with pink.

Softer, he continues, “You’ve done this for me, a complete stranger. I wouldn’t feel right not thanking you. I don’t even know your name.”

“You really don’t need to thank me,” San protests, his hand still resting on the doorknob. “I don’t want to intrude on your life because of one small act.”

“What if I want you to intrude?” the boy counters.

San can’t hide the heat spreading across his cheeks. He’s in uncharted territory and this boy is super attractive and no one this good-looking has shown an interest in him before.

The boy smiles sheepishly and puts his foot on the first step. “My name is Wooyoung. What, what's your name?”

San takes his hand off the doorknob and turns to face Wooyoung fully. “San. My name is San.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting fan-fiction period? Like I've written lots of fanfiction before over the past several years, but I've never a) finished any of it or b) had the confidence to post it. So here we are. Also I wrote more for this and Yunho, Mingi, and Yeosang made appearances but it didn't fit so I cut it off here. Hehe.


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